


Winter Writing Challenge

by GingerLyoness



Category: The Hour
Genre: Cold Weather, Gen, Jumpers, Tea, Winter, adorable friend stuff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-21
Updated: 2013-11-24
Packaged: 2018-01-02 05:58:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1053318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GingerLyoness/pseuds/GingerLyoness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of 31 one-shots for the upcoming winter period.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sweaters

**Author's Note:**

> I hope this passes muster. I honestly thought about changing the title to 'Jumpers' just to be petty, but I decided against it since I use it enough to get my Britishness across in the actual fic. Enjoy!

Bel sat huddled at her end of Freddie's sofa, her knees tucked up to her chest as the firelight flickered across her face. The Notting Hill flat was unbearably cold in early December, even with a fire going it was difficult to find any warmth.

Resting her chin on her knees, she sighed. Freddie had gone off to make tea, and for some reason was taking longer than usual. Deciding to investigate, she stood slowly, wrapping her arms around herself as she shuffled towards the kitchen.

"What's taking you so long?" she called, rounding the corner to see the kitchen empty. Frowning, she turned around, "Freddie?" she shouted, walking into the hall and down towards his bedroom.

"Looking for something," he called back, a grunt escaping his mouth. He was in the middle of rifling through his drawers for a jumper of sorts - it was bloody freezing, and a shirt just wasn't cutting it. He was sure he had another in here too, since Bel had only worn a coat over her thin cardigan.

"And what would that be?" she asked as she leant against the doorframe, smiling as she watched him search.

"Jumpers," he replied, "a-ha!" he pulled out a thick green-blue round neck jumper, tossing it towards Bel as he continued the search.

"What, is this one for me?" she smiled, pulling it over her head nonetheless. She pulled the front of the neck to her face, brushing the soft material against her cheek. It smelt of cigarettes, the chest of drawers it had come from and something quintessentially Freddie.

By the time Freddie had found another jumper, Bel had left to make the tea he had neglected in his haste to provide minimal warmth to the two of them. She smiled as she heard his socked feet pad down the corridor, picking up the two cups, "bring the tea pot and the milk, would you?" she asked before walking towards the sitting room.

Placing the cups on the floor, she sat in front of the fire against the sofa before reaching for the tea pot. After the tea was prepared, she lifted her cup in a mocking toast, "here's to getting warm, Mr. Lyon."

"Cheers to that!" he chuckled, clinking his cup against hers before taking a long sip, his lungs expelling a relieved sigh, "thank goodness for that. I thought my toes were going to drop off for a moment."

"It's not cold enough for you to get hypothermia, we have a fire," she shook her head, nudging his shoulder gently.

"'Ey, watch it, you'll make me spill my tea - that you went to pains to make for us," he teased, leaning back into the sofa with a sigh, "then again, the scalds might warm me up."

After the tea was finished and the fire was still burning, the pair were still feeling the cold.

"So much for finding jumpers," Freddie mumbled, "it's still cold. And we're sat in front of a bloody fire!"

"Heat rises. You feel warm, though," she pressed her hand to the side of his neck, shuffling closer and wrapping her arm around his slender waist.

"Gratuitous hugs now, eh? I have no objections," he smiled, putting his arm around her shoulders, pulling her close against his side and resting his cheek atop her head. They ended up staying there for most of the evening, eyelids drooping until the weight upon Bel's head became much heavier.

Deep breathing came from Freddie's parted lips, eyelashes brushing his cheeks as he slept. Bel smiled, resting her head in the crook of his neck as she gazed into the fire, pulling his jumper closer to her as sleep took over.


	2. Snowball Fights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Freddie and Bel have a snowball fight on the way home from work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologise if this one is a little lacking, I was strapped for ideas.

The 13th of December 1955 was crisp and frosty, the air thick with a white fog with every exhale.

That morning, Freddie had ended up getting a particularly bruised backside, due to the fact that his front steps were covered in frost, something that had escaped his knowledge as he jogged down them.

"You alright, Mr. Lyon?" the gentleman who lived below him called from the doorway.

"Yes. Yes, I'm fine," he replied, shifting to his feet before continuing towards Alexandra Palace studios, eyes on the pavement for any more frosty areas.

As he reached work, a light snow had begun to fall, coating the crown of his head. He sighed, jogging down the steps to the basement offices he inhabited five days a week.

"Morning, Lyon," a voice like velvet called, cigarette smoke swirling from her mouth.

"Morning, Miss. Storm," he greeted her, "we ought to batten down the hatches, it's started snowing out there."

The woman chuckled, "I'm sure it won't come to anything - those weather men can rave about it all they like, I'm not buying it," she strolled back to her desk, glasses put in place, fingers back to the keys of her typewriter.

The day passed slowly, with only one chance for a break before getting straight back to work. Copies were proving few and far between, with stories either being trivial and boring or too difficult to meet the deadline. One of the only things relieving the tension was the radio drifting through the office gently, and Freddie could have sworn Dickie Valentine's _Christmas Alphabet_ was played at least five times, much to his chagrin.

 

Bel had been busy all day long, so by the time 5 'O clock rolled around, she was more than ready to leave for her flat and a nice cup of tea. What she wasn't expecting was he thick layer of snow as she reached the outside world.

As she began to trudge through the sea of white, she felt something collide with her back. Turning around, her eyes landed on none other than Mr. Lyon, eyes averted and hands in his pockets. As he noticed her gaze, he grinned, whistling inconspicuously.

"You're impossible!" she cried, stopping until he fell into step with her.

"I don't know what you mean, Miss. Rowley," he teased, hunching his shoulders against the cold.

 

The pair went back to Freddie's since the journey was far easier, and took less effort in the current snow, which was seemingly getting much heavier. As they walked from Notting Hill Gate, Bel swept the settled snow off of one house's window sill, forming it into a ball before throwing it at the back of Freddie's head.

"Oh, come on now," he turned around brushing it quickly out of his hair, "I didn't aim at your head."

"Is that meant to sound chivalrous?" Bel asked, linking her arm through his as they trudged through the snow, turning icy as the evening grew colder, "now, my feet are freezing, so let's get inside. Your nose is freezing," she smiled, running her finger along the bridge of his nose.

He smiled, mounting the steps slowly, "go carefully, they were icy this morning," he smiled, "wouldn't want a broken ankle as well as cold feet, would we?"

Later that evening, Freddie walked Bel to the Underground station, throwing snowballs at each other along the way. The lack of people made it easier to act like children, something they secretly acknowledged that they needed to do more often.


	3. Snowball Fights - Alternate Version

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An alternate version of Snowball Fights. Single father Freddie AU.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this takes place in the version of things where Bel dies in childbirth in 1961, and Freddie is a single father. Hope you like it!

_14th of November, 1965._

 London was covered with a light, powdery snow, the air filled with a gentle fog cloud with each breath. Notting Hill was quiet on Sunday afternoon, most people at home with their families after a Sunday lunch.

Since Freddie's cooking skills were almost non-existent, ("I've got better!") Sunday lunch for him and four-year-old May consisted of meat stew with bread on the side - a full roast was something Freddie couldn't deal with.

The record player gave out the sound of The Rolling Stones' _Get Off My Cloud,_ the two joining in with the chorus as Freddie cleared the table.

The pair sung loudly, May dancing around the kitchen, which mostly consisted of jumping and pointing occasionally. Freddie chuckled, swinging her up into his arms, still dancing in time to the music, smiling at the delighted giggles emitting from the small child.

The record crackled to a stop, Freddie balancing May on his hip as he went to lift the needle. He turned to look at her as he stood up straight, "now then, little Miss. Lyon - are we going for that walk in the snow? Or are you too full from lunch?"

"No, I want to go!" she cried, grinning excitedly. Freddie had always taken her out in the snow since she was a small child. The snow of winter 1962 had been incredible country wide, causing mass traffic problems. He remembered reporting one particular incident of several people's cars being covered by the thick snow.

The two left the flat decked out in thick winter coats, May wearing the hat Bel and Freddie  had knitted for her - one that had admittedly turned out too big for a baby. The red stuck out against Freddie's black coat as they walked hand in hand down the road, heading for Kensington Gardens.

 

The park, to Freddie's surprise, was filled with other families, most of them making snowmen or having snowball fights. May had since let go of her father's hand, running around in the snow as he followed, his longer legs keeping up easily with her.

As he looked around, he didn't notice May beginning to form a snowball in her small hands, jumping as it flew past his face, nearly skimming his nose, "May!" he turned, watching as the child ran in the opposite direction, before making after her. The pair laughed, May easily caught by the taller of the two.

Her brown curls stuck out of the bottom of her hat as she looked up at her father, grinning with rosy cheeks, "I nearly got you, Daddy," she laughed, holding his hand as they walked towards the band stand.

"Yes, you did, didn't you? I should teach you how to hit someone properly - then you can beat all of your friends, eh?" he said, bending down to her level, "look, we'll aim for that tree over there, see?"

May nodded, a look of concentration coming to her face. She picked up a snowball, letting Freddie hold her arm to aim in the right direction. The snowball hit the edge of the tree, the pair smiling with looks of pride on their faces. This continued a few more times before Freddie turned to look at her, "now it's your turn. Go on, have a go."

The child nodded, making another ball before throwing it hard towards the tree. What the pair didn't notice was the elderly couple coming from the other side of the walkway, blissfully unaware as the snowball sailed towards them. Freddie and May's eyes widened as it hit the lady in the shoulder, before turning and running quickly in the opposite direction, giggling in spite of themselves.

As they reached an appropriate distance away, May fell back into the snow, still grinning.

"May, get up, your coat'll get wet," Freddie mumbled, trying to catch his breath as his ribs protested. February 1958 was still something that his body wouldn't let him forget, even now.

"I'm making snow angels, Daddy," she explained, flapping her arms and legs.

Freddie smiled, "oh, alright. I suppose I'll have to join you, then," he flopped down in the snow beside her, beginning to copy her movements until there was a substantial dip in the snow. The pair stood up, admiring their work.

"Why can't it always snow, Daddy?" May asked, grabbing his hand as she nestled into his side.

"Because England isn't cold enough, sweetheart," he smiled, "wouldn't you get bored of it, though?"

"No, because it means I get to play with you," she explained, not noticing the sentimental grin come across Freddie's face as they began to walk home.


	4. Hot Chocolate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Freddie tries to make hot chocolate, but a Zimmer frame and Bel get in the way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Post Series 2, kind of a fix-it fic. It's sort of linked to First Steps, so you can have a looksie if you want to. Enjoy!

_25th of November 1958_

Freddie's flat was filled with the sound of the radio, the dull drone of a news reporter drifting quietly through the air. The speech was accompanied by a crash, followed by muffled grousing from the young man the flat belonged to.

"Bloody Doctor Brecht and his stupid bloody walker," Freddie mumbled to himself, leaning against the front of said walker, as he moved towards the kitchen table, sitting down in the chair as he rested his forehead on the hard wood surface, ingredients for hot chocolate deserted on the side.

He remained there for longer than anticipated, as before he knew it, Bel's voice drifted through the flat, "I'm back!" When no reply came, Bel called again, "Freddie? Where are you?"

The radio had changed to the charts show, Connie Francis blasting through the flat as Freddie remained with his forehead on the table, "in here," came his muffled reply, his voice sounding miserable and fed up.

Bel frowned as she walked into the kitchen, noticing his position, "what's the matter?" she asked, before noticing the ingredients on the side. She sighed, walking towards the man still slumped at the table, placing her hand on his shoulder, "what were you trying to make?"

"Hot chocolate. But Doctor Brecht's walker was getting in the way," he explained, not lifting his head to look at her. Bel sighed, he'd been getting more and more dejected lately with the things he couldn't do, and she was sure that sooner or later he was going to snap.

"I'll do it. You just sit there and..." she paused, frowning, "do whatever it is you're doing."

Freddie sighed, rolling his head to the side of the condensation his warm breath had caused on the polished wood table, watching Bel as she moved about the kitchen. The pair were still walking around the edge of a precipice - the situation was delicate. Like china dolls, one wrong move and they would fall and smash.

A few moments later, a steaming mug of hot chocolate was placed down directly in front of his nose. His slowly lifted his head from the table, picking up the mug and touching the edge to his bottom lip slightly as he looked over the top at her.

She smiled, "cheer up, you look sad," she told him, reaching across the table for his hand. He smiled despite his lack of happiness, taking her hand gently as the radio continued playing in the background, _Stupid Cupid_ drifting quietly around the kitchen.

He looked up as he realised what the song was saying, looking at Bel awkwardly as her expression looked curiously vacant. The pair finished their hot chocolates in silence, their hands still locked together on the table top.

As he finished, Freddie pulled his hand away, "thank you," he mumbled quietly, getting up to put his mug in the sink. As he moved slowly with his walker, Bel stood behind him, following suit. The pair stood silently as the radio reporter spoke of Mali becoming an autonomous state within the French Community, the dull voice fading into the background as he turned to look at her.

He leant over carefully, pecking her gently on the cheek before returning to his previous position, beginning to move away before she turned, touching his cheek to turn his head towards her, pressing her lips to his.

His eyebrows raised, knees going weak as he held onto the walker tightly with his dominant hand, pulling her closer with his other hand by her waist. The pair pulled apart, foreheads resting against each others as they smiled contentedly.

He chuckled to himself, letting his eyelashes graze her cheek as he held her as close as was possible with a disruptive walker in the way. He felt the corner of her mouth curve against his cheek, her hand stroking his cheek gently before they returned to the table, smiles fixed on their faces for the rest of the afternoon.


End file.
